


Let Go Lightly

by fieryphrazes



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BJ Goes To Maine, BJ Hunnicutt's One-Sided Letter Campaign, Developing Relationship, Epistolary, Friends to Lovers, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Peg is a saint and a wingwoman, Post-Canon, Self-Discovery, but with a twist this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28068198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieryphrazes/pseuds/fieryphrazes
Summary: In the months since the war ended, BJ has written Hawkeye dozens of letters. He's never once received a reply.When circumstances take him to the northeast, Hawkeye begs BJ to stop writing, and BJ tries to understand why.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 15
Kudos: 65





	Let Go Lightly

**Author's Note:**

> The title (and part of the inspiration) comes from the song Let Go Lightly by Donovan Woods: https://youtu.be/5N9mxDawwyI

On the plane back to San Francisco, BJ got the idea to kick-start their correspondence. He made a plan to mail a postcard before he even left SFO. In the bustle of actually arriving he almost forgot – he had to run back in to the mailbox in the terminal while Peg pulled the car around. He carried Erin on one hip, postcard in his free hand. He was about to drop it in the box when Erin started clapping.

“Kiss!” she said, and reached for the postcard. BJ let her grab hold of it, and she smacked her lips against the paper.

“Sealed with a kiss, huh?” BJ said. “Good idea, kiddo.” He planted one of his own, then dropped the postcard in the mailbox.

It arrived in Crabapple Cove two days after Hawkeye did. His dad left it on the hall table, where Hawkeye would be sure to see it when he got back from his walk. He’d been pacing the neighborhood, revisiting his old hiding spots, noticing how small they all seemed. The pond was barely a puddle to him now. The woods behind the house were just a little patch of trees.

When he saw the postcard – “Greetings From San Francisco!” – he stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he picked it up.

Hawk,

How is it possible that I miss you already? Made it home safe – wanted this to meet you in Maine. Write soon, I want to know everything.

BJ

PS – Peg and Erin say hi.

That afternoon, Hawkeye sat down with a clean white sheet of paper to write back. He made it as far as “Dear BJ” before giving it up as a lost cause.

They’d lived together for years, operated side by side, made and drunk their gin in tandem. What did you write to someone after all that?

* * *

Hawkeye,

Erin’s finally getting used to having me around. We saw a guy in uniform the other day and she didn’t even call him daddy – she knows me now. Thank god. Part of me thought I could never make up for those years. Maybe I still won’t be able to, but at least I have a chance to try.

Peg’s cooking is even better when it hasn’t been shipped halfway around the world, but as crazy as it sounds – I keep thinking about Igor’s creamed corn. I know, I can’t believe it either – maybe it’s a phantom pain. I hope so, because otherwise that means I might actually miss the food, and that would mean a one-way ticket to Bellevue.

Kidding aside – I think the only thing I miss is you.

Trying not to be offended by the silence. Write me back, will you?

BJ

Daniel held up another envelope.

“Put the boy out of his misery, Hawkeye,” he said, tossing the letter over.

Hawkeye caught it and picked at the seal nervously before setting it aside.

“He’s got better things to do than think about me,” he grumbled. “Shouldn’t be wasting his time writing.”

Daniel took a measured look at his son, slouching over the kitchen table. It would take time to readjust, he knew. He just hoped Hawkeye would let all of himself come home.

Hawk,

Okay, I’m done begging you to reply. I’ll just continue this one-sided conversation. That’s no problem! I’m getting used to talking to myself.

I’ve been thinking about mail call back at the 4077, how a letter could make our whole week. But sometimes I couldn’t write one back for months. It was just too much. What do you say? Especially to someone who’s living a regular life back home, far away enough to be safe. They can’t understand it at all.

The whole time, Peg kept writing, even when I fell off the wagon. I think I might have died if she stopped.

So if you can’t write back – I can try to understand that. I just want you to know – I’m always here. It’s hard to write that down. I used to be able to look over to the other side of the swamp, and know that you knew it.

A lot’s changed – I don’t have to tell you that – not least of all this crazy distance between us.

The beach house is coming along really well. Peg got the ball rolling, so now I can just sit back and supervise. Having a real estate mogul for a wife is pretty great, actually. She’s grown up so much since I left. I’m so proud of her, but – I guess I can tell you this. You’ll never tell her, right? I miss when she relied on me. She cleans out the gutters one time, and that’s another little thing she doesn’t need me for. The little things add up, it turns out. I know she needed to learn, and I’m glad she did. Just thinking about how things used to be, I guess.

Erin’s just the best kid. Hawk, I hope you get to feel like this someday. All that love, uncovering who a kid is – because you can’t really shape them. I’m figuring that out. There’s a whole person inside her, and every day I get to know her a little better.

I guess that’s all my confessions today. Stay tuned – not giving up on you yet.

BJ

Hawkeye dropped the letter and rubbed his forehead.

He read it through again, then added it to the pile, slowly growing on the corner of his desk. It was its own little mountain by now; the letters just kept coming. At least one a week, sometimes more.

Each time, it got harder for Hawkeye.

Daniel kept a watchful eye on his son. He’d been in bad shape ever since he got back. If anyone had bothered to ask Daniel – which they certainly did not – he would have said Hawkeye should have written BJ a damn letter and that would have solved, well, not everything, but something. As it was, Hawkeye didn’t ask, he just moped around the house. Eventually he got hired at the hospital, and then he moped around there, too, between patients. A couple times girls came around – Daniel recognized the teenagers they used to be, just under the surface – but they never stayed long. Hawkeye chased them off as quickly as he could. All the time, Daniel watched, and he worried.

* * *

Hawkeye,

I know you’re reading these, even if you aren’t replying. So I wanted to tell you – I’m coming to see you. There’s a conference in Boston, and I’m going to drive up to Maine. There’s no use telling me no, I’m coming anyway.

See you soon,

BJ

The first night in Boston, he met Charles for a drink. BJ had been expecting a bar, he supposed, but the address Charles gave him turned out to be a private club. They drank 12-year-old scotch in overstuffed leather chairs, like some kind of Victorian novel.

“And how is Pierce keeping himself?” Charles asked. BJ shrugged.

“He won’t return my damn letters,” he said, forcing a smile. Still, some bitterness crept into his voice.

“Ah, well it’s no surprise that Hawkeye is not a master of the art of correspondence,” Charles intoned. “He’s written me some very poor letters indeed.”

“He’s written? To you? Letters?” BJ was floored.

“Only a few, now and then,” Charles said. “I do try to keep in touch with the common man. It helps one remember how fortunate one is, to not be common.”

The rest of the night, BJ steamed. Not one reply in six months – and here Hawkeye was writing to Charles. Charles!

As soon as the seminars ended, BJ jumped in his rented car and headed north. He got directions at a service station when his map failed him, and soon enough he saw a sign welcoming him to Crabapple Cove.

Hawkeye was on the front porch with an elderly man when he pulled up to the curb. BJ smiled as he got out of the car, and he and Hawkeye met in the middle, hugging tightly.

When they disentangled and made their way up to the porch, BJ shook Daniel’s hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said. “Your letters kept us all entertained in Korea.” Daniel smiled.

“BJ Hunnicutt, the pleasure is all mine,” he said warmly. “I’d like to thank you for getting my boy home in one piece.” BJ blushed and brushed it off. He hadn’t really done anything, after all. Just been there with him through it all.

They made it through a pleasant evening before the trouble started. It was after dinner, and Daniel excused himself. Hawkeye turned to BJ and gave him a piercing look.

“So, what’s on your mind? You’ve been holding back since you got here,” he said. BJ smiled through his teeth.

“I had a very illuminating conversation with Charles,” he said. “You remember Charles, bald, insufferable, we hate him?” Hawkeye tipped his head. “Then imagine my surprise when I found out he’s been getting letters from my best friend – something that hasn’t happened to me once – not once! – in the last six months,” BJ said, exasperation out in full force. “Hawk, what’s going on?”

Hawkeye stood up from the kitchen table and walked toward a window. He faced out into the darkness.

“I can’t write you, Beej. I’ve tried so many times, I just can’t do it.”

“But you can write Charles? Come on, Hawk.”

“It doesn’t matter what I write to Charles,” Hawkeye said, turning back to face BJ.

“It doesn’t matter what you write to me, either!” BJ said, frustration showing clearly now. “Just so long as I know you’re alive!”

Hawkeye looked down. He didn’t answer.

“All I’m asking is for you to write me back every once in a while,” BJ said. “Not every time. Just drop a line to let me know you’re okay.”

“What, so we can become penpals who check in twice a year? You’re writing once a week now, but come on, Beej. You know that won’t last,” Hawkeye said dismissively.

“Of course it will!” BJ was determined he wouldn’t let Hawkeye win. Not like this.

“I know how it goes,” Hawkeye shot back. “We write each other for a few months, and the letters get shorter and shorter, until eventually you get busy and forget. And I spend the rest of my life sitting here waiting for a reply that never comes. I won’t do it! I won’t wait around and watch while you forget all about me.”

“Hawk – Hawk, listen to me! How could I ever forget you? Goddammit, you kept me alive that whole time in Korea. You did that. No one else, not Peg, not even Erin. It was you!” They were shouting at each other now.

“So let me live, now!” Hawkeye roared. “Just let me go!”

BJ stepped back and considered him carefully.

“Is that really what you want?” BJ asked quietly. “For me to leave you alone, try to forget about everything that happened?”

Hawkeye shoved his hands in his pockets as he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I want. So get lost.” Hawkeye jerked his head toward the door.

BJ grabbed his jacket from where it lay over the back of a chair, stomping across the room. He paused in front of Hawkeye, pointing at him with a fierce look on his face.

“I will never forget you, Hawkeye Pierce. Not as long as I live.”

With that, he stormed out of the front door. To Hawkeye it seemed like he took all the air with him.

BJ walked through the neighborhood, stopping every now and then to pace, or throw his hands in the air. Eventually he headed back to the house, because he had nowhere else to go. He stopped at the threshold, finding Hawkeye sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. BJ sat in the chair across from him, still glaring.

“I’m not going to stop writing,” he said finally, “But if you really don’t want to read them –“ BJ shrugged. “I can stop sending them. Save on postage.”

“Beej, it’s not that I don’t want to read them. I just – I can’t write back.”

BJ considered him carefully.

“I won’t pretend I understand it. You’re nuts, but I always knew that.” BJ smiled. “I guess that’s why I liked you, right away.” Hawkeye rolled his eyes.

“You could try to understand,” Hawkeye said, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. “Because you know what? I lose you either way. Whether it’s all at once, cutting contact, or if it’s a slow fade and the letters just stop coming eventually. I still lose. So please, Beej, let me let go, because I know if I hold on I’ll end up choking out every little bit of affection you ever had for me,” Hawkeye said. He took a deep breath. BJ stayed as still as he could, waiting for some final word that would hopefully make sense of all this.

“There’s no way for me to keep you, with your life and your family all the way in California. Beej, I can’t be that old friend you see every five years. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

BJ nodded slowly. It made sense, in a sad Hawkeye kind of way.

“You know, you’ve been like my diary the last few months,” BJ said thoughtfully. “It was always that way at the 4077, and I guess I just kept up the habit. Telling you everything.” BJ shrugged. “I meant what I said: I’m not going to stop writing. And I know you’re wrong about all of this. But if you think it will really help, if you think it’s better for you – I won’t send them.”

Hawkeye nodded gratefully. It broke BJ’s heart.

* * *

Hawk,

You know, I can picture what your face would be like as you read these. It’s almost as satisfying as hearing back from you – I guess it’s like a little part of you that hangs around in my life, even though the rest of you tried so hard to disappear.

I know you explained it, and I tried to understand, at least a little bit. But the farther I get from it, the harder it gets to remember why you thought this was a good idea in the first place. Maybe it doesn’t really matter anymore. I’m still writing to you, after all. You’re still the best friend I’ve ever had. Just a little quieter than you used to be.

I was thinking last night about one morning in the mess tent. You led a rebellion over the powdered eggs, beating a spoon against your tray, chanting, the whole shebang. The entire camp joined in. You were dazzling. Sometimes I wonder what it is you ever saw in me, why I got to go along for the ride. And then I think, maybe Hawk would wonder the same thing about me. I don’t know if that’s true. I always felt a little square standing next to you, people assuming I was the straight man while you played the comedian. I know better, of course. I cracked as many stupid jokes as you, and pulled almost as many pranks. It was always fun to prove them wrong. To show them we were just as crazy as each other.

Maybe I just wondered because so much of me was living 10,000 miles away. I was only ever half there, but you really gave it everything. That kept me going, you know. It really did. I just wanted to tell you that.   
BJ

He put down the pen and rubbed his eyes. He never knew what he was going to say, when he started writing. Just that he needed to say something. Most of the time, whatever came out ended up feeling true. Part of him thought it was easier now, knowing Hawkeye would never read it. Maybe he said things he wouldn’t have said otherwise.

He had a drawer full of the letters by now. Each one signed and stuck inside an envelope – not sealed, though. Not addressed. He’d promised, after all, that he wouldn’t send them. Every day it tempted him, but he thought about that desperate look on Hawkeye’s face when he’d begged him to stop. If it helped Hawkeye, BJ thought, he could suffer through it. That’s all that mattered.

* * *

“BJ?” Peg was calling him from upstairs. He set Erin in her playpen and headed up.

“What do you need, honey?” he asked as he walked into the little office. Peg was kneeling next to the desk, bottom drawer gaping open, stuffed with unsent letters. BJ noticed a dozen or so pages loose from their envelopes, scattered on the floor.

“I didn’t mean to read them,” Peg explained. “I didn’t know what they were.” BJ shrugged, unbothered.

“He asked me to stop mailing them,” he said, “but he didn’t tell me to stop writing.”

Peg picked up a handful of papers, looking them over helplessly.

“BJ, you should have told me,”

“Told you what?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling.

“BJ, have you gone back and looked at these? Really read them, one after the other?”

BJ shook his head. “I write them and file them away, then I kind of move on.”

Peg bit her lip, her brows crinkling up in thought.

“I don’t think this can be classified as moving on,” she said, gesturing at the drawer, nearly full to the brim. “Honey, I think you need to deal with this.”

BJ didn’t understand.

“Deal with what? Peg, he’s my friend. So he’s eccentric,” he said. “If he doesn’t want me to send him letters, that’s fine – I may not understand it, but I’ll do what he asks.” He wasn’t sure why he was defending Hawkeye, when Peg hadn’t insulted him. But he couldn’t help it.

“That’s not what I mean, BJ. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Hawkeye,” she seemed suddenly on the verge of tears – BJ wondered when that had happened. “I think this is _your_ problem. Why do you need to keep writing, when you know it’s all going into a drawer? BJ, he’s never going to read these. Not unless you send them.” 

“Of course I know that, Peg. I don’t see the problem with writing them, though.”   
Peg shook her head. 

“It’s only a problem if you keep fooling yourself about it,” she said. “BJ, I’ve known for a long time that you didn’t come back the same person who left. I made peace with that,” she said. “The person you are now is enough for me. But I’m not sure it’s enough for you.” 

BJ didn’t understand. He felt frozen with an uncomfortable half-smile on his face. He just didn’t understand. He told her that. 

“You wrote me some very nice love letters, while you were gone,” Peg said gently. She picked up another page from the floor and started reading. 

“Hawk, today the fog rolled in and turned the whole town blue. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. If you were here, I think we would have ridden a cable car all afternoon, just hiding in the fog, together. I miss you.”

Peg dropped the paper into her lap and looked pointedly at BJ. 

“You never wrote me anything like that,” she said quietly. There was no blame in her voice. BJ realized there were tears in his eyes. 

“You’re in love with him,” Peg explained gently. BJ didn’t know what to say – he opened his mouth and closed it again a split second later. 

“You should send these to him. He needs to read them.”

BJ shook his head, one of the tears breaking loose and falling down his cheek. 

“I promised,” he said. “I promised I wouldn’t.” 

“Don’t you think he needs to know?” Peg asked. BJ was bowled over by her kindness, towards this man she didn’t know, and to him. What had he done to deserve her? What kind of repayment was it, to abandon her? 

“BJ,” she was getting impatient, he could tell. “These change everything!” 

He wished she was right. But it couldn’t be that simple. That’s what he told himself. 

“Say something, please,” she asked. BJ looked down at the floor, littered with all those pages he’d written. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t know.” 

Peg smiled sadly. 

“I know.” 

She kept on him about sending them. She even found an old box and moved them out of the drawer. They were ready to ship, filed neatly in chronological order. The box sat in the corner of the office for months, gathering dust. 

“Peg, when you said it changes everything,” BJ paused for courage. “What did you mean?” 

Peg stopped drying the plate in her hands. She chewed on her lip for a moment before responding. BJ kept methodically washing, ready to hand the next plate over whenever her hands were empty. 

“Letters are the easiest thing to ignore,” she finally said. “You just let it sit there. You burn it. You tear it up. So why can’t he ignore them? Why do you have to stop sending them?” 

BJ washed in silence for a few minutes, thinking about that. When he handed the last plate over to Peg, she dried it and put it away. 

“You love him,” she said softly, gently. “And I think he loves you too.” 

The next day, BJ taped up the box.  On the way to work, he stopped at the post office and paid $2.55 to send it to Crabapple Cove, Maine. It was out of his hands, now. 

When it showed up on the front porch, Daniel felt a spike of something like hope in his chest. He lugged it inside, leaving it where Hawkeye would trip over it. 

The next morning, he found Hawkeye sitting with his back  against  the front door, poring over pages and pages, envelopes scattered around him on the floor. 

“Ben,” Daniel said softly. Hawkeye looked up at him, eyes red. 

“Dad –” Hawkeye was close to sobbing. “I think he – I think he might –” 

Daniel smiled. 

“Go,” he said. 

Hawkeye looked down at the envelope in his hands. He checked the house number again. A perfect match. Walking up the front steps felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done, until he reached for the doorbell. 

It rang – and the door opened. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello again :) posting another fic at 5:30 in the morning :) i'm losing my mind and it's all Their fault :)


End file.
